Oh, Be Careful, Little Tongue
by Ingarian Librarian
Summary: "Oh, be careful, little tongue, what you say... Oh, be careful, little tongue, what you say... For the Father up above is looking down in love..." And so is a certain overly literal Angel.


Oh, Be Careful, Little Tongue, What You Say

" Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!

And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell."

\- James 3:5-6, the Bible (King James Version)

Dean frowned as he leaned over the sink, scraping away at two days' worth of stubble. The whole Samhain thing had him tied up in knots inside. The Seal breaking was bad enough, but angels being ordered to follo –

A soft rustle behind him. Startled, he whirled around to find Castiel literally two inches from his face. Think of the angel, and he shall appear, apparently.

Then he felt the tell-tale sting on his cheek. He brushed the spot with his finger, and his hand came way bloody… yep, nicked himself, thanks to Mr. Up-Close-And-Personal. He winced at the burn of shaving cream inside his cut and shoved at the intrusive angel. "Damn it, Cas!"

Castiel backed away and disappeared. Dean had just enough time to wonder what had just happened and why his fingers were tingling when the angel popped back into existence in the exact same spot, looking haughty and expectant.

Dean took just a second longer to realize that his fingers were tingling because the razor that was in them was gone. He didn't remember dropping it, and looked stupidly around on the floor for a couple of seconds before he decided he was ready to deal with the angel in front of him.

"Whaddya want, Cas?" he sighed.

"I have done as you requested."

Dean shook his head. He was _too damn tired._ "What?"

"Currently, I am still under orders to follow your command," explained Castiel placidly. "You instructed me to damn the article of hygiene in your hand, so I have done so. It has been cast deep into the Pit." His face shifts just slightly to express mild disgust. "I must admit I do not understand the purpose of your request. It is an inanimate object, and therefore incapable of experiencing torment."

"YOU THREW MY RAZOR INTO HELL?!" asked Dean, flabbergasted.

"At your request," reminded Castiel.

"That wasn't what I meant!" Dean protested angrily.

"It _is_ what you said," countered the angel coolly. "Perhaps you should be more careful with your tongue."

Dean groaned and gestured at his half-shaved face, still covered in shaving cream. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Castiel cocked his head. "I would suggest that you purchase another, since the first was unsatisfactory."

"Yeah, well, then, you're supposed to follow my orders? Fine. Go get me one," growled Dean.

Castiel obligingly vanished. Somehow, the angel who could get to Hell and back in a matter of seconds took over half an hour to get a razor. When he did return…

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me! _Pink? Really,_ Cas? _"_

"I was unaware that color was relevant."

"Pink is for girls, Cas! You got me women's razors!" Dean bellowed. "I mean, come on! Package has frikkin' _daisies_ on it!"

Castiel glanced away and then back at Dean, eyes blazing. "Of what import is the packaging?" he demanded, beginning to sound just slightly exasperated.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You know what ? Never mind. Just go away. Come back in, like, an hour or something." He waited for the rustle of wings and the puff of air announcing the angel's departure.

It didn't happen. Castiel stood there, head tilted slightly to one side, eyes focused somewhere else.

"Hey, Cas?"

No response.

"Yoo-hoo! Earth to Cas! You in there?" Dean waved his hand in front of the angel's face

and found his motion arrested in a bone-crushing grip.

"What are you doing?" asked Castiel, frowning curiously.

"Um," replied Dean awkwardly. "Uh. Could you, maybe, let go? Please?"

Castiel considered this for a moment before obligingly releasing Dean's wrist.

Dean rubbed at it, wincing. That was gonna bruise for sure. "Uh, you kind of spaced out, there," he continued. "See, I asked you to scram – yeah, that means _leave_ – and you, ya know, didn't. As in, you're still here, except I thought you're supposed to follow my orders, and all that, so.."

"Oh, that?" Castiel said. "I've just received further instruction concerning that. I'm certain you will be pleased to know…" He almost smiled, but his blue eyes narrowed just slightly, giving him the faintest air of mean self-satisfaction, and Dean knew what was coming –

"…That order has been rescinded."


End file.
